For your consideration: a Kafka-meets-Lynch (with a smattering of Poe) study of triangulating fantasies, yearnings and devolution.
The first posting I've been able to find the mental wherewithal to publish in nearly a month . . . 'tis no coincidence, the absence from this forum. Thermodynamic Laws in the spiritual realm are just as intractable and dispassionately uncompromising as they present in the material, albeit illusionary, world.
Although the physical juxtapositions made this composition a compelling target for my eye in that initial moment of
encounter, it was not until only quite recently that the import of the space pierced my consciousness. In fact, it required a bit of visual sleuthing before the unraveling helix revealed itself completely, a startling discovery.
Thus we have quite an entourage here.
An undulating, serpentine coil of questionable DNA simultaneously adorns and overpowers a goddess of a decidedly fecund and verdured nature. Showy, arm thrust as if a prize is due, all the while unaware that her essence remains confused by the many layers required to maintain the aura.
Regal, yet removed to the background, struts a guardian scanning the unseen arena for signs of — what? confirmation of the conceit at hand? dissent deemed uninformed and thus unimportant? Regardless of the stare, such hubris only becomes possible behind the safety of a mask; one dares not (knowingly) adopt such emotional and physical postures in the presence of naked honesty.
Occupying the most elegant stance is a youth emanating what seems to be wisdom beyond his years; yet the distant gaze and decapitated hand states that little in this scene is born of spiritual/emotional clarity; the pomp and circumstance of self-indulgence and daring-for-confrontation utterly misses the bars of self-imprisonment looming behind. He knows what the others can't see: the artificial construct of the moment is quite removed from the truth which lives off-stage.
Finally, occupying the foreground is belatedly discovered a bare appearance of purity and its life-sustaining gift of healing, nurturing, and the cycle of birth and rebirth. . . the core essence of Love. It is no coincidence that this representative of Truth is paradoxically the most easily missed prop. Close examination brings us the heart of the matter, however: the posterior breast is incomplete, cleaved from being anchored to the body.
Thus, the inescapable conclusion becomes that such are the vital elements of love that it suffers constriction, distortion and becomes a surreal parody when the actors begin donning themselves with substitutes, props and a cacophony of roles, deceits necessary to perpetuate participation of a falsely constructed tableau.
With your feet in the air and your head on the ground
You try this trick and spin it, yeah
But your head will collapse and there's nothing in it and you'll ask yourself
Where is my mind?
Where is my mind?
Where is my mind?
Way out in the water
See it swimming
-- The Pixies © Universal Music Publishing Group
Torso Goddess (Madonna and Child), #0956-7D
© 2012 James W. Murray, all rights reserved.
(click image for larger version)
Details: July 24, 2011; Canon 7D; f/5 @ 1/250 sec; –1/3 EV; ISO 1000;
Canon EF 100mm f/2.8 Macro USM
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